


put a spell on me

by TheEagleGirl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Friends With Benefits, benjen is sirius, jon is the "chosen one", lysa arryn is umbridge, meaning jon and sansa are snogging without telling robb, which kinda makes sansa ginny? Not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: Somewhere along the line, this became less about release and more about him. The way she feels when she’s around him, the way he shudders softly when she presses her teeth to his throat, the phantom of a bite. The way he sighs her name when they’re arguing in front of other people. His hooded gaze when she teases him, the euphoric grin she spots on his face after a good quidditch match, the smile he gives her when he’s tired but humoring her banter. She lets herself bask in these little things, the things that tether her to him.She’s just not sure if he feels the same.~~Or, a Hogwarts au with lots of making out, saving the world from the Dark Lord, andfeelings





	put a spell on me

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been playing around with this AU for a while...Sansa is a fifth year and Jon, Robb, and Theon are sixth years in this chapter. Loosely follows order of the phoenix in this chapter, with a few time jumps.
> 
> Enjoy!

The Room of Requirement is locked. Someone’s inside it, Sansa supposes, but that does nothing to quash her annoyance. Instead, she scribbles out a message on her enchanted parchment-- _Transfiguration room_ \--and watches the words fade.

Sometimes, she regrets telling others about the Room of Requirement. It was meant to be a secret, when Margaery had pulled her aside in their third year. When she’d overheard Robb and his friends plotting their first DA meeting, though, she knew this room, the secrets it could keep, would be the only way to keep her brother from being expelled. Margaery had forgiven her, after a while, and Sansa enjoyed the DA, truly. The only downside--well, other than the ministry’s involvement in Hogwarts this year--was that now that the secret was up, the Room of Requirement was occupied more often than not.

Sansa’s face heats when she thinks of why that might be. She’s got no room to judge, after all, when she’d been coming here to…

“Transfiguration room,” Sansa mutters to herself, shaking those thoughts from her head. Robes swishing, she turns on her heel and hurries to the west tower.

He’s already there when she arrives.

Despite their rivalry with one another at spellwork and charms, Sansa allows herself to admit that Jon Snow is a rather gifted wizard. _Alohamora_ alone wouldn’t have worked on the door, Professor Lannister is far too clever for that, so Jon’s spell must have bypassed the wards on the door first.

He’s left the door open for her. Sansa allows herself to take a breath before entering. It’s always best to steel herself. She and Jon always end up fighting, don’t they? They’ve been around each other long enough, now, that people are no longer alarmed at the sharpness of their words when they snipe at one another. _It’s affectionate teasing_ , she’d heard Robb say once, when little Jeyne Westerling had watched their verbal sparring with an open mouth. _They’re just so competitive. They’re like squabbling siblings, really._

Siblings. Sansa wants to scoff. But her blood is boiling, and she needs a moment before she goes in.

Jon’s back is to her, when she slips into the room. She closes the door behind her softly, but she needn’t have worried--he’s in the middle of transfiguring his parchment into a paper dragon. She blinks and it’s done, the dragon beats it’s paper wings and it is _up, up, up._ Sansa’s anger tries to leave her in a rush, but she holds onto it.

“It’s raining outside,” Sansa muses, when the dragon flits out the open window.

Jon turns to her, unsurprised. “Just a bit,” he tells her. His hair is wet, though, and he’s still in his quidditch robes.

Sansa swallows. She should get straight to the point, then. “Arya told me you want to teach the patronus charm at the next DA meeting,” she says, hoping he won’t notice how red her cheeks are.

Jon eyes her warily. “I plan on that, yeah.” He pushes his curls out of his face, and fiddles with the Gryffindor scarf thrown haphazardly ‘round his neck. He must have just gotten in from the pitch.

Sansa raises a brow at him. “I haven’t learned that one yet,” she says, as though he should _understand_.

Jon just stares at her evenly. “You’ll learn it tomorrow at the DA meeting, then.”

There are several things Sansa is better than Jon Snow at. Potions, for one. Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic, Divination, some charms. But defense against the dark arts was always _his_ subject. Sansa’s a year below him, but she’s been struggling to catch up since before this year, during his DA lessons. The competitive spirit is something she’d inherited from neither her mum nor her dad, but that and her _ambition_ are what’ve kept her afloat in Slytherin all these years.

“You did this on purpose,” Sansa accuses, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You knew I was going to practice casting a patronus next week. Why else would you move it up in lessons?”

Jon laughs, and Sansa wants to be angrier at him...but she hasn’t seen him laugh in so long. Not much since Ygritte died at You-Know-Who’s hand in the Triwizard Tournament last year.

“Not everything I do is to vex you, Sansa,” Jon says, his eyes crinkling. His expression sombers up. “There were rumors of a dementor attack in London,” he confesses. “I heard it from Benjen. I wanted…” Jon cuts off, looks at his hands.

“I wanted everyone to know how to protect themselves from them,” he says finally. “Before we go away for the holidays.”

Jon will be coming to their house for the holidays. He’s had an open invitation since year one, when Catelyn and Ned Stark had taken one look at the poor boy with a scar running through his face and a bruise on his arm. Sansa used to dread those visits. Now she dreads them for another reason, because with all her brothers and sister around, she will never be able to do _this_...

Her hand is on his before she can think. _I’m supposed to be angry with him for at least a while longer,_ she scolds herself. That's the game they play, to pretend there are no feelings inolved. But she’s never been able to hold on to that anger before, not when Jon’s being his stupid, noble self.

“If I can’t cast a patronus tomorrow,” she says in a low, teasing voice, “I’m blaming it on you.”

Jon smiles at her, leaning against the desk. It shouldn’t make Sansa’s heart flutter the way it does. “You’re the most talented witch in Hogwarts,” Jon tells her. “You’ll have no trouble casting it.”

Sansa smiles at him, a sweet, uncomplicated thing. “Oh, you flatterer,” she says, and brings her hands up to cup his face. The scar runs from his brow to his cheek, like a claw mark, and Sansa rubs her finger against it.

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” Jon teases, leaning into her touch.

Sansa leans in for a kiss, as if that is answer enough.

 

Somewhere along the line, this became less about release and more about _him_. The way she feels when she’s around him, the way he shudders softly when she presses her teeth to his throat, the phantom of a bite. The way he sighs her name, _oh, Sansa_ , when they’re arguing in front of other people. His hooded gaze when she teases him, the euphoric grin she spots on his face after a good quidditch match, the smile he gives her when he’s tired but humoring her banter. His low praise after she jinxes Robb spectacularly, his hand coming to hold her elbow, steady her before she casts a new spell. She lets herself bask in these little things, the things that tether her to him.

She’s just not sure if he feels the same.

Jon is a good guy. He’s her brother’s best friend--when she’d kissed him, that night after the first DA lesson, when she’d stayed to clear up with him, he’d brought up Robb.

“He’s my best friend,” Jon had said, his jaw clenched. If she hadn’t seen the way he stared at her, the way he’d left her hand in his, she’d have thought he was truly angry.

“And he’s my brother,” Sansa had replied. “Your observational skills are truly something to behold, Snow.”

The fact of it was this: Jon Snow was lonely, and he was depressed. His scar had been hurting all year, and even though he lied about it to Robb, Sansa could see the toll it took. And if she were to tell the truth, Sansa was lonely as well. It had only taken You-Know-Who coming back for half the Slytherins to begin ignoring the other half, the side with Death Eaters for parents too confused with their new station in life to continue the way things had been. Margaery had been one of the few friends who’d stuck by her, bearing the whispers that her father had rejoined the Dark Side.

It was a release, she told him. A release of tension, a way to channel the horrid things happening in their lives, in Hogwarts. Lysa Arryn, the new ministry-appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, particularly wanted to see Jon fail.

_Just snogging, then_? Jon had asked her archly, his brows raised as though he didn’t believe that Sansa would approach him, of all people, for this.

It’s never been just snogging, if Sansa is honest. She’d fooled herself more than him, at first, letting herself believe it was just two teenagers finding each other in a mad world.

 

Gryffindor wins against Slytherin, in the next match. Sansa feels too heated from the game to play her usual ones. She should make him wait, ask for it. She usually does, when Gryffindor wins against her house, but this time she skips the sniping to pull Jon, still sweaty and his hand fisted around the snitch, from the celebration.

_Jon, his face pulled into concentration, flying high above the other players, scanning the field for the snitch. Jon, diving at a breakneck speed, tangling with Harry, the Slytherin seeker. Jon, so close to the ground, Sansa had to close her eyes and pray he wouldn’t hit it._

Jon kisses her languidly, his tongue and teeth slow, exploratory. Sansa whines against him, fists his robes and pulls him closer against her, even though she’s got a hard wall at her back and there’s not much closer she can bring him. He’s in the mood to tease, and Sansa nearly snaps at him.

“I was _worried_ ,” she mumbles against his lips. “You _idiot_.”

“Did you think I was going to fall?” Jon says, between kisses. He refuses to let her set the pace, and even in this, they fight. It’s a fight Sansa doesn’t mind losing, though, when she lets herself relax against him, melt into the wall. _Merlin_ , his lips are soft.

“You were about to crash,” Sansa says bitingly, but it’s offset by her tugging on his hair, and her soft plea of, “ _do that again_.”

He does, and Sansa wants to rub against him in this small alcove. There’s a tapestry of Helga Hufflepuff covering them, and the Gryffindors have passed already. She moans softly into Jon’s mouth, smells the sweat and fresh air on him. Sansa a year ago would have turned up her nose at kissing a boy who wasn’t clean. Sansa a year ago was an idiot.

“It didn’t bother you, then?” Jon murmurs in her ear, and she can tell the effort it takes to sound unaffected when she gives in and rubs herself against the leg he’s got situated between hers. “My team beating yours?”

“No,” Sansa says, smug when his voice finally hitches off at the end. “Because I know you’ll make it up to me later.”

“Greedy,” Jon says, but nips her ear to let her know he doesn’t mean it.

 

“ _Slytherin_!” the Sorting Hat had cried, and when Sansa felt it taken from her head she had simply blinked. There had to have been a mistake. She couldn’t be a _Slytherin_. All the Starks had gone through Gryffindor, since Hogwarts had been established, even old Rickard the first, whose ghost was the official Gryffindor ghost.

The other first years had been wary of her. Sansa was a pureblood, true, but her family had fought against most of theirs up until only a dozen years ago.

“Slytherin’s not so bad,” Robb’s second year friend Jon had told her, after the feast was done. “They’re shite at quidditch, but that’s not your fault.”

“They all look so _mean_ ,” Sansa had whispered. Jon smiled and ruffled her hair, and Sansa shot him a glare, already withering on an eleven year old.

“They’re probably just afraid of you,” Jon said, giving her a kindly smile. He nudged her towards the other first years. “Go make some friends.”

 

  
The problem with making friends, Sansa realized, was that they couldn’t be trusted.

Jeyne Poole is crying, but Sansa is, perhaps unfairly, too angry with her to feel particularly forgiving tonight.

Jon, Robb, and Theon had taken Professor Arryn out to the Forbidden Forest. Sansa hopes an ice spider eats her.

“Oi,” she hisses to Arya and Hot Pie, “we have to get out of here and help Jon before You-Know-Who gets to the Department of Mysteries.”

Arya shoots her a glare. Joffrey had gagged her, only minutes after Lysa Arryn had taken Jon, Theon and Robb away. _Well, then do something about it_ , that look says. Arya jerks her head towards their captors. Joffrey.

Her hands aren’t tied. Sansa is a good girl, known for her quiet excellence in classes and her hard work, unlike Arya, Hot Pie and Gendry, who’re known for their ruckus and disruptiveness. Joffrey and his goons hadn’t thought to tie up Sansa, a fellow Slytherin. When she pretends to cry and Joffrey comes near enough for her to steal his wand, she makes sure he knows not to underestimate her again.

“We have to find them,” Sansa says, when she transfigures the sleeves of Joffrey’s robes into ropes. Jon taught her that nifty trick.

Jon. Sansa has to tamp down her rising panic. He’ll be alright, she reasons, now that she and Arya have their wands back. She has to be strong, until then. She has to be strong for him.

They’re almost to the Forbidden Forest when she hears Jon say her name, and then all her manufactured calm flies out the window and she’s running, crashing into him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck. If Robb and Theon find the exchange strange, they don’t say, but Sansa presses a hard kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“He’s got Benjen,” Jon says when she pulls away, eyes wild. “You-Know-Who, Rhaegar--my _father_ \--he’s got Benjen!”

Sansa grips Jon’s face. “We’ll get him back,” she promises fiercely. “All of us. We’re coming with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, i had to fuck with canon and make Rhaegar into Voldemort AND Jon's dad :/
> 
> Did you enjoy? If so, please comment/review!


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